


Melusine

by mostlyapples



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Exorcisms, F/M, Gen, Horror, Rule 63, Something In The Water, Supernatural Elements, Tentacle Monsters, Vampirism, medic being a terrible doctor as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 04:02:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2094963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlyapples/pseuds/mostlyapples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mostly a suspense horror story with the usual sub-par attempt at wackiness, featuring implied Spy/Sniper and maybe a smack of Spy/Demo, with variations of Fem!Spy and tenta/mer/vampire!Spy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melusine

The Sniper risked much, insisting on sleeping in his camper nearly every night, far away from the others.  More than once, the Demoman tried to impress upon him the dangers that lurked beyond the protection of the base, but the Sniper scoffed at his warnings.  He was born in Australia, he had encountered and bested wild creatures specifically evolved to kill a man in a variety of unpleasant ways.  Nothing in the relatively tame badlands of New Mexico could possibly pose a threat to an experienced hunter such as himself.

But that was the situation before the war between RED and BLU, back when the Badlands had not yet suffered from chemical leaks or radioactive contamination, of which lead happened to be the least harmful.  Up until recently, this stretch of desert had avoided the taint of dark magic, and more importantly, the can-do attitude of some very scientific, very talented intellectuals.  Now everything had changed, for the worse.  Monstrous beasts have attacked humanity for far pettier reasons, the Demoman knew, and he reserved no doubts that the seething nexus of magic and science centered on the battlefield had already birthed horrors too unimaginable to even contemplate for one second before the brain shut itself down out of self-preservation.

That was why he alone must wage war for his teammate’s souls against the haunts that would prey on them as they slept.  For he had seen beyond the veil that separated this existence from the other dimensions, and survived.  The Demoman alone knew what must be done.

* * *

 

It took a third of a bottle of Scrumpy to hearten his body and open his mind, which he guzzled while he girded his sword and shield and sprinkled a few drops of his mother’s protection draught over his eye and chestplate.  At his waist pouch, he also tucked away salt, herbs, amulets, and a precious silver vial of water blessed by a holy hermit.   And if that were not enough, he still had his bandolier of bombs.  Thus armed for every possible eventuality, the Demoman cautiously paced the perimeter of the fortress after sundown, on the alert for anything more out of the ordinary than the usual run of the mill extraordinary.

He had his suspicions, of course.  Anyone with at least one eye should have noticed how the Sniper appeared in the mornings, pale, with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks.  Exactly as though the life-force had been drained out of his body during the night.  Oh, the Medic said that was just how the Sniper normally looked, the result of too much coffee and even more urination without proper hydration, but the Demoman could not be content with so simple of an explanation.   Hence, the bulb of garlic filched from the kitchens included in his kit, as well as a hand mirror used for shaving.  In his heart, however, he doubted either object would help combat the creature, the ghoul that inhabited the form of the BLU Spy that was surely sucking the life out of their Sniper.

He had seen the truth behind the BLU Spy long ago, though everyone else on the team just laughed it off as another drunken hallucination.  For sometimes in the middle of battle, he would glimpse a woman’s figure draped in sharp blue pinstripes instead of a man’s.  Just a flicker in the corner of the eye, a suggestion of a made-up pout, a curve of the hip, before the illusion of the gentlemanly rogue returned.  The Demoman did not know when or why or how the original Spy was replaced with a woman, it made no difference to his efforts to blast the Spy to kingdom come either way, but the image of a body shifting between two forms haunted his thoughts.  The others did not believe him naturally, the Scout claiming he would have sniffed out a woman if there ever was one on base, but his eye could see the hidden truth ever since he was a child.  Not only that, he was certain that she had caught him looking at her true form, when their eyes met across the chaos one fateful Wednesday.  Perhaps all of this trouble with the Sniper was her warning to him, to leave her alone.

But he would not allow a teammate to fall under her wicked spell.  He would not let the Sniper be lost without a fight.

He reached the camper van with no further incident.  Somewhat disappointed, he strode to the door, about to assure the Sniper he was safe for now when he heard a thump from inside and froze.  Another thump, and a groan, and the Demoman hurriedly unsheathed his sword.  He tried the door quietly, hearing a slightly more passionate moan emerge from the Sniper, followed by muttered cursing of a decidedly filthy nature.  Any other man might have backed off by this point and let a fellow finish enjoying some alone time, but the Demoman could not be entirely sure the Sniper was in fact, alone.

“Oh yeah, that’s how we do it, love,” he heard the Sniper murmur.  “You pretty little thing, can’t wait for more, can you?  Well, you’re in for a treat…”

Whatever dirty talk the Sniper had planned was cut off by a yelp as the Demo charged in, brandishing his claymore and chucking the bulb of garlic.  The Sniper, interrupted in mid-masturbation, dropped his much-used magazine and scrambled for a blanket, still yelling.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?!”

“I’m saving yer life!”  This was accompanied by a splash of tepid holy water and a sprig of rosemary.  “Out, out, damned she-devil!  I won’t let ya consume this man’s soul with yer witchcraft!”

“Will you stop that?  There’s no one here!”

The Demoman paused, turning to look around the camper van and failing to find a single trace of a vampiress.

“Then… who were ye talking to?”

The Sniper glared at him murderously.

Reality returned to him in gradual fits and bursts, and the Demoman lowered his sword in awkward realization of the nature of the Sniper’s desire to be alone.  “Sorry…”  He cleared his throat, glancing the other way as the Sniper yanked his briefs on.

 “Get out, Demo.”

Embarrassed, but determined to be thorough, the Demoman cast one last furtive look over the Sniper and the inside of his truck, to make sure he did not miss any bite marks or errant shadows.  Then he saw the magazine, truly saw it, and his eye widened in shock.

“Where did ye get this?!” he demanded, pointing at the glossy pages with his sword.

“Don’t remember,” the Sniper grumbled.  “Why, you wanna borrow it?  Cuz you can’t.”

“I’ve ne’er seen such concentrated evil in my life.  Not even the Bombomonicon’s evil could rival this!”

If there was one thing the Demoman learned as a twelve year old, it was that literature equaled danger.  Granted, a nudie magazine hardly counted as literature, and did not really endanger a body too much if one kept their solitary activities to a healthy minimum, but this particular magazine absolutely reeked of vengeful malice.

Every image was of the same dark-haired woman, dressed, or barely dressed, in fanciful bits of costume, her stunning body displayed in perfect views to keep the Scout busy for probably weeks.  That is, if he purposely overlooked the setting of the photos, the disconcerting piles in the background built of detached limbs and torsos and heads, all dressed in red.

Did they never wonder, how the black widow became a widow?

Warily, the Demoman flipped a page with the tip of his blade, and the images began to run and bleed into black, as if ink had spilled over the paper.  Across the cramped space, the Sniper swore in consternation, and the Demoman shrugged and offered, “I can get ye some phone numbers if you like.”

“No thanks, I’m more of… a visual type.”

After they made certain the magazine was completely ruined and not a flash of soft skin was left to be ogled at by riffling through the contents backwards and forwards, the Sniper tossed it out of his van, and the Demoman finally left, certain that his job was done.  All evidence pointed to a successful exorcism, it seemed.  The healthy tanned glow returned to the Sniper’s cheeks the next morning, and the team did not chance upon the BLU Spy for several more days.

He thought he might have defeated the specter, but in his heart, he knew he had only made it angry.

* * *

 

Friday night found the Demoman skulking in the sparse wilderness of the mountain battlegrounds, tracking the demon down.  Suddenly, he lost the trail he had been following, of withered grass and ink-spattered earth.  Before him rose a little copse of trees, which he approached in silence.  A trickle of water greeted his astonished ears, and he glanced around a slim trunk to espy the most dazzling scene. 

In a pool, a beautiful and very familiar woman bathed.  Long black hair drifted across the water’s surface, while the moonlight shone over her lovely nude body, every detail of which had already been impressed in the Demoman’s memory.  All the while, she sang as she splashed dark water over her head, some lilting French chanson in a low, smoky voice. 

The BLU Spy revealed at last, the Demoman thought.  Like Artemis of old, he thought, or Lorelai from the river, the water spirit who led men to their deaths with her beauty and song.  Even knowing the danger, he found himself entranced by her fairness.  How he wanted her, lusted for her ever since he discovered her true identity.  He could not shake his desire now, so strong it made him pant and sweat in feverish need.

The Demoman made the mistake of stepping forward into the clearing, and the Spy stopped her song to look at him.  She laughed and beckoned him to come closer, at which he frantically drew his sword, leveling it towards her breast.  Still, she did not leave the water, and he could not help but notice no clothes laid out on the shore, no skin nor ring to steal and thus render her helpless.  Not even the ever-present cigarette case.

He swung his sword at her head with all his might as she in response screamed and dove at him with clawed hands.  Out of the pool rose great tentacles that twisted and slapped at him, prompting him to hew at those ungodly limbs using powerful chopping strokes until they fell to the ground writhing and then stilling.  At last the wounded monster gave one final gurgling death-cry, slithering back into the depths of the blood-darkened pool.  There was silence where once was song, a mass of putrid flesh where once was beauty.

But the battle was not yet over.  Heart racing, the Demoman whirled around, on the lookout for the true form of the Spy.  With a triumphant yell, he slashed at the neatly suited woman who lunged at him, intent on sending her straight back to Respawn.  His claymore sliced easily through her slim form, but no spray of blood gushed from her stricken body, only a rush of blue smoke.  Frustrated, the Demoman cast about for the Spy, spotted her materializing in front of a tree. 

Before he could attack, he noticed his opponent’s image flickering in and out unsteadily, which made him hesitate for one crucial moment.

“I never left,” uttered a harsh deep voice from behind him.

Something cold and slimy flicked around the Demoman’s ankle and sent him crashing to the dirt, violently enough to make him lose his grip on his sword.  His last coherent thought as he was dragged into the inky water by a sinister shadow was that he should have trusted the Scout’s instinct after all.

 

* * *

 

They found him outside the main building, drenched and shivering in the blue dawn light.  Of course he had no memory of how he ended up there, likely the result of too much drinking the night before, but the Medic looked him over and declared him as healthy as any one of them could be.  The day proceeded as usual, though Miss Pauling did drop by to tell everyone to make use of the shipments of bottled water that had been sent in earlier.  It seemed that the BLU team had discovered a dead body in the well that supplied both bases. 

“Who was it?” the Demoman asked.

She looked at him.  “I never said it was a person.”


End file.
